"You're fucking late, Devi." He says it as if it excuses the assault on my eyes. I still can’t speak yet. Jack’s clear on his accepted forms of punishment. Sometimes it’s physical, sometimes it’s psychological. Either way, it’s always painful for me. Right now, I’m throbbing so hard between my legs that I’m sweating. And the sensation is so sickening I feel faint. Liable to vomit.
Why do all the wrong things feel right? I don’t want to feel this way. I close my eyes.
“At least I didn’t \*_cum_\* early,” I snap. We’ve been doing the cat-and-mouse thing for half my life. And he hasn’t won in a long time, I tell myself. A long, long time. The words aren’t enough, but they’re something. Just because my body is reacting, it doesn’t mean anything. I don’t have to let it mean anything. Shows like the one he just put on are his way of trying to assert control since—I shove the thought so far so fast it hurts.
He wanted me aroused and flustered, that’s all. He wants me to obsess over him, replaying those moments when I close my eyes. It doesn’t have to mean anything. My hands shake harder.
“Whatever, cut the shit,” he insists, raking his hands through his dirty blond hair too quickly like he wishes he got more of a reaction. I take another look. No, something’s got him on edge, and from the furtive glances he’s casting my way, I realize that tonight will be bad for me. He's only ever serious when shit is going wrong.
"You’re working the lunar room tonight." He rubs his jaw. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. "And before you argue—I'll pay you for a double shift, Devi. That’s generous as hell, so don’t start in on it."
"I always work the velvet room, Jack," I can't stop myself from saying as his words sink in. I worked in Velvet for three years in a row. It’s \*_my\*_ turf. I know the layout. I know the bar. I know the clients. It’s the largest VIP room; everyone knows Velvet tips best. Yeah, Jack paying a double shift is unheard of, but for him to move me to the smallest room, something is going on.
“Why the sudden change?”
"It's for me to know and you to do as you're told. Double the wages on Lunar or head home. Take it or leave it, but either way, you're not in Velvet tonight." There’s a hard edge in his voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. The lunar room is smaller and located in the back by the emergency exit, but with double wages and tips, I could make up for any losses.
And honestly, I need to leave this room. Now.
"Who's taking my place then?" I ask even though I guess the answer already.
"Aisline," he tugs his collar and settles back into his office chair. "Double or nothing? What's it to be?"
“Alright,” I nod and obey the command as I always do. Double my wage is a lot of money, and I can't turn it down, so there's really no choice. My ear rings sharply just to remind me what I’m saving for.
“Before you go, Devi—” Jack calls out as I turn back to the door, fully prepared to slam it on my way out. “You know what day it is. Late to work or not, you know what’s due. Let’s make it quick.”
Gritting my teeth, I turn back, shrugging off my coat. I toss it in one of the empty office chairs, followed by my phone. For a second, Jack just looks me over, sniffing with his eyebrows raised. \*_You only need to ask for help like old times\*_ his look says. My knees lock, but he’s already heading for the sink tucked back in the corner of his office, and as he washes his hands, I remind myself that one day, my life will be entirely my own. That I hate him, but I need him. He cultivated these reactions in me, but it doesn’t have to mean anything anymore.
The Institute and my secret classes will give me a new life. All I have to do is pass my practical exam in Service Sundries.
I watch him soap and rinse his hands twice, counting as he does because there’s no way in hell he comes within an inch of my skin with juices on his palms.
Sinking into the remaining office chair, I watch Jack gather his supplies before tugging on a pair of semi-sterile gloves. I try not to think about the fact that he had his cock out not even two minutes ago, and he’s probably got spit and sperm drying on the inside of his jeans. It can’t be comfortable, but maybe when you blow a load that fulfills a little voyeuristic fantasy, the crusty sensation isn’t as irritating. Maybe when he imagines it is me on my knees, the sensation even feels good afterward. I blink, knowing I shouldn’t have thought that. I shouldn’t be thinking of his cock at all.
I squeeze my eyes closed when the material stretches over his wrists. I hate him that one iota more when the plastic snap makes me flinch. My skin is already so flushed that he’s giving me a pleased hum when he finally takes my arm in his hands.
My skin is begging to be touched, but I would rather die than let Jack see any more of it on my face. So I tighten my shoulders and clench my thighs.
“Come on, don’t pout. You know the rules. Every working girl needs a clean bill of health, and that means blood testing every week.” I think about arguing that I don’t even fuck the clients, but we’ve hashed this out too many times to count. Jack’s going to stick that needle in my arm no matter what I say. Then, when he’s done filling three bags that come pretty fucking close to making me pass out and dosing me with a loss stabilizer, he’ll give me a soda and send me upstairs to work.
The ambient lighting that dances over his walls makes me nauseous as the blood begins to siphon out.
I’m convinced he’s selling our blood under the table, but I can’t prove it, and I’m not sure anyone even cares or what it would even be for. He smells like iron and ink as he leans closer, his breath tickling my neck. Or maybe it’s my roaring blood I’m smelling, the tang of it sharp and savory at the same time. It’s a thought I can’t quite reconcile because Jack ghosts the skin at my ear, putting my resolve not to shiver to the test.
“If seeing my pleasure bothers you so much, Devi, next time, you can be the one on your knees. You know you’re always welcome.”
It takes everything not to tremble as he pulls away, tracing my throat with his glove. Every part of me tightens, and even the needle stings against my strained muscles.
An hour later, or so the phone in my hand says, I’m finally out of Jack’s presence and heading to the dressing room. I pick a costume from the row of Lunar-approved ones and plead my case to Sass for a rapi-dose. She runs the backroom, answering only to Jack each night about our money earned. She’s had enough natural-looking mods to her appearance that I can’t tell her age outright, but I’m pretty sure she’s closer to Jack than I am.
“You’re in here asking for a dose three times a week, lovie,” she probes, studying me under the harsh digital displays. Her eyes are crystalline with the smallest hint of blue at the edges. The rare and expensive gemstone nags at me every so often, making me think of what life she must’ve lived before this one. Was she a kept pet? Who paid for such a lavish modification? Middlings almost never have gemstones imbedded. They’re viewed as statements.
Her eyes blink, waiting for my answer, but I can only focus on her strange pupils and how they’re following the throb of the dancefloor, making my head spin. “You doin’ alright?”
Wincing at the flashing light, I shrug. “Are any of us alright? It’s just a migraine, Sass. I probably drank too much last night.”
She hums, giving me another look that says my makeup base isn’t covering how badly I look. “Jack start his shit tonight, then?” She whispers tightly. She’s always been observant like that in Jack’s and my relationship. She pegged the truth from the beginning, and I can tell half of her disgust toward him is because of me. It’s endearing, even if it doesn’t change a thing.
“Reassigned my room is all… with Aisline between his thighs,” I try to joke, but it falls flatter than her face at my words. She shakes her head, opens her mouth, and then thinks better of it, choosing instead to hand me the cure for the pounding migraine that’s only gotten worse after the blood loss.
“You’ll come find me after your shift, yes?”
With a grateful smile for the drugs and a nodded yes, I head to my station to finish applying two layers of heavy makeup. I inject the dose into my thigh as I spritz setting glue over my work. Within seconds, my migraine dials back to a dull soreness, and the lights are less irritating. I watch my face seal into the illusion of good health and sex appeal. No one would ever know what I hide under it.